Free verse 1

This cold evening,

the dying rains have stirred many silences

muffled fearfully among disciplined hedgerows,

sparkling water lilies, and twisted vines.

Shiny crystals of water inch stealthily on garden scaffolds

while

paper boats sail on ripple-less waters…

Wearisome days

Black and white stripes
Of dilapidated images
Lie juxtaposed
And reflected on my retina.
Seeming to me,
Like a delusional chimera.
Bland , vacuous sketches
In a vision splattered
With wishy-washy reveries.
The colours have drained,
Leaving behind mere traces
That moan in solitude,
Jostling amongst each other
Wanting to make
That little streak of colour
Last for just another moment,
On a wearisome day.

Deep within.

The unabating cry
Of an outlying cricket
Invades the stillness
Of a monsoon night.

Sweet cacophony
Fills the airspace
Quietly summoning
A mellifluous cloudburst.

Hounds of melancholy
Strengthen their shields
And sharpen blades
In perpetual obstinacy.

In the distrait ambit
I see a flourish too bright
Like stars caught
In a cast net.

A breath of damp soil
Plunges into my nostrils
Leaving a dewy freshness
On my curved lips.

A cry breaks the tranquility
Of the morose nighttime.
My soul awakens to the
Plea that I realise has come from
Deep within.

Of stars and glory.

zephyr

Sorrows sweep o’er the grassy plains
And the summer unfolds,
In a ferocity so surreptitious
Like a rattlesnake among the bushes
Lost in a daze of pursuit.
Yonder the zephyr
Twists and turns in immaculate
Chutzpah;
A pacifier of a cold night;
Wrath of the day.
When the sun rests beneath
The saffron horizons,
The world awakens
To an untold dream
Of stars and glory.

-Varina

Dusk

The day wears off
Summoning the dusk
With its smell of wilted
Jasmines;
And a hue of orange
Luminescence
That paints us all
In its loving embrace.

Child of dreams

It lay there
Among the debris
Of yesterday;
Breathing heavily with
Tightly shut eyes,
Cold and forgotten.

A pile of white
Shrouded hastily neat.
A thin layer of flannel
Obscuring its limp body
In a trashed mould.

A cry rose into the night
Stirring the impregnated silence;
Leaves shook, twigs broke free,
Rivers ceased flowing,
Chaos grew like the west winds.

Subtle as the night sky,
The brown skin glowed,
And the folks paid heed.
They rubbed its tiny feet
And kissed it clean,
Naming it: ‘The child of dreams’.

Song of my soul

I heard the chickadees
Sing a merry song
That
Intertwined with
The one that was
Already playing in my soul.
– Varina

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